At The End by Mike Taylor
There’s so much to discuss, to ask and say, but at times I just want to be quiet, to sit and be with my mother rather than cram questions into what will almost certainly be her last few days. She’s back in her much-loved home, returned from hospital, but – like there – confined to bed, to days lying between clean white sheets, to occasional, dutiful attempts at eating when really she just needs water; and to coping with the few visitors we are allowing at this stage.
I’ve done my best to make the room bright, to maximise the light that comes in from the windows by stretching back the curtains, and by having a couple of lamps on if there’s even the hint of gloom during the day.
I’m sitting on the side of the bed, trying not to accidentally lean on her almost skeletal body, covered by a duvet that almost hides her from view. We’re talking about holidays, reminiscing about trips from over thirty years before. I’ve remembered one where we stayed at the house that had been my grandmother’s, my sister and I gleefully playing every day in a nearby stream and the family going for walks and the odd meal out in the early evening.
Yes, my mother agrees, that was special. But, I now hear, not for the reasons I have thought, for the freedom and fun; for my parents it was a trip to tidy and clear the house, ready for selling. Aged five I had no understanding that, with my mother’s mother having recently died, her life must be packed up and her house sold.
Suddenly I realise what my own mother is thinking, that in coming weeks it will be my turn, emptying this room, this memory-filled house: a final goodbye.
Mike Taylor has written stories for several years, stories that aim to capture an incident or moment, reflecting aspects of day to day life, with its complications, challenges and occasional triumphs. A couple have been published by Glittery Literary.
Photo courtesy of Mike Taylor
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